


which mannerly devotion

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny has a thing for Steve's tattoos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	which mannerly devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hermette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermette/gifts).



The only thing keeping Steve here is the light weight of Danny's palm against the small of his back; the murmur of Danny saying _let me_. Steve doesn't say _yes_ out loud, but then maybe he's been saying it so often for so long, in so many different ways, that Danny doesn't need to hear it this time—all he needs is for Steve to turn his head towards him, to close his eyes. Steve is sprawled naked on his belly; Danny sitting beside him cross-legged, hair mussed and just as bare, and the only point of contact between the two of them is Danny's hand on Steve's back.

For a long moment, Danny just rests his hand there, doesn't move it. Steve keeps his eyes closed, listens to the sounds of their breathing, the ocean's roar filtering in through the open window. The afternoon sunlight is warm on his skin, but Steve would swear that Danny's palm is hotter even than that—a solid patch of heat right over the tangled curves of Steve's tattoo. It makes Steve sweat; it makes him shiver, and only when the trembling dies away does Danny start to move his hand. Two wide sweeps of his palm over Steve's back, hipbone to hipbones, down to the swell of Steve's ass and back up again, as if Danny's trying to spread out all that warmth, to work a full Indian summer's heat into overworked muscle and bone. Steve gasps, turns his face into the pillow, and Danny lifts his hand so that only the blunt tips of index and middle finger are in contact with Steve's skin.

There's a long pause. Steve feels his face redden at how turned on he is by something so simple—from the barest hint of contact, from the gentlest touch of Danny's callused fingers—at how his awareness of the world around him has narrowed down so absolutely to sunlight and soft sheets and two fingertips against his skin. Then Danny starts to work. With his fingernails, he traces out the very edge of Steve's ink, right on the line where tan skin meets dark, running along the perimeter in one long, steady, even loop. He doesn't stop, doesn't ever stop; Steve can hear him humming a little under his breath, and he can't tell anymore where the tattoo starts and ends, where his sparking nerve endings finish and Danny's fingers begin. Steve feels blurred, overheated, and his hips are starting to work against the mattress just from this—from the gentle, skin-and-bones way Danny is taking this symbol, this abstract thing of Steve's and making a dialogue of it.

Danny shifts closer, lies down beside him, their heads on the same pillow; never once do his fingers stop moving, working affection into Steve's skin. Steve opens his eyes, helpless to do anything other than smile when he sees Danny this close to him—loyal, ridiculous, well-loved Danny—Danny who's been meeting him halfway all this time. Danny's fingers swoop and curl and dip over Steve's skin; his hands, as always, are his second voice. Steve gasps, aching cock rubbing against the sheets; feels his orgasm building right at the hot, shivering place where Danny's skin meets his. _Hey_ , Danny's touch is saying, _hey, this is you, right? This is you and me right here, here's all the things you've chosen; isn't this good?_ ; and it's good, it's good, it's perfect because Steve is trembling and panting and coming and Danny's right there with him the whole way, never stops touching him, not once.


End file.
